Numbness
by Crittab
Summary: Complete- Roger is the only person who can make Mark feel anything other than numbness. A Roger/Mark slash/smut/'Rated M for a Reason' fic.


**Disclaimer: I don't own RENT or any of the characters in this story.**

**Numbness**

Fuck.

Just fuck.

There's nothing I can do. Nothing I can say to change this.

So fuck.

Why can't I feel anything? Why am I so cold?

Why when I see them together am I not boiling with anger and rage and seeking revenge for what she did to me.

She cheated. Fucking cheated. And I don't care. I don't care because I don't feel.

I need to feel. I need something. I'm dying in my own numbness.

And fuck.

Fuck, when I see him with her.

Fuck. Because that makes me feel. That makes me hurt. That makes me want to rage against my world and my circumstance.

But I won't. I won't because that's not what I do.

I observe. I detach. I wait for something to change, and then let it change because I have no means of influencing anything in my life.

My life happens to me. I don't live it, I just live in it.

So when I walk into the loft, and I put my camera on the table, and pull off my scarf and jacket, and walk over to him on the windowsill and see that he is upset, I just ask:

"What's wrong," as though I don't already know. He looks up at me with his beautiful green eyes and just shrugs.

"She left," he says. Of course she did. She always leaves. You leave, she leaves. You leave, she leaves. It's how your relationship works.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I say. I lie. I'm not sorry. Somewhere inside, my heart just did a flip. Because I want her to leave. I want her out of your life; out of our lives. I want you to myself, like you were when you had no one and had tied yourself to the loft. At least then I knew I could see you whenever I wanted.

He shrugs.

"Yea," he says. It's unresolved. He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn't have the words.

I can relate to that feeling.

I'm sick of that feeling.

I want that feeling to go the fuck away.

"Fuck, Roger," I hear myself say, despite what little good sense I have left. He looks up at me with a confused expression, "Just... fuck."

"What does that mean?" he asks. I shrug. I honestly don't know what that means. All I know is that right now he's being his old depressed self, and it's taking everything I have not to grab him and shake him. Or grab him and fuck him. I'm not sure which I'd rather right now. He raises an eyebrow. Opens his mouth and sighs heavily.

"Get up," I say. I don't know why I said it. I don't know what I'm going to do if he does. He just continues to show me that blank stare.

"Why?" he asks. He almost looks nervous. I don't know why. It's not like I could actually hurt him.

"Just get the fuck up," I say again. His brow furrows, but he does as I ask. I don't know why. He doesn't like being told what to do.

For what seems like hours, we just stare at each other. I see his eyes gaze at all different parts of my face. I feel his eyes on all different parts of my face, boring into me with an intensity only he can muster.

I suppose, he probably feels the same way about me right now.

I feel a well of something in my stomach. It's nerves, I guess. Nerves, anticipation, and fear. But I ignore it.

I move so quickly I nearly knock him over. I kiss him so hard. He doesn't respond.

I don't stop.

I just grab his face with my hands and force my tongue into his mouth. He opens it.

At least he isn't pushing me away.

I feel his hands on my chest, and suddenly I'm sent backwards. I catch myself before tumbling into the back of the couch.

"What the fuck, Mark?" he asks. He wipes off his mouth as though I had put something foul in there. I swallow hard, finding it very difficult to find my voice.

I don't say anything. What can I say?

I can barely register what he's doing as he speeds toward me. Suddenly I'm flipped over the couch, landing on the cushions, and he's flying over the top, landing on me. He spreads himself out over me, grabbing my hands and pinning them over my head.

In an instant, his mouth is on mine. It's hot. It's hard. It's needy.

Roger grinds against me. If I didn't already have an erection, I have one now. Feeling him get hard on me is possibly the most erotic thing I've ever experienced. He grinds again and again, and I can feel a heat rising between us. His tongue is deep in my throat. He releases my hands and begins to feel my body with his.

His hands go under my shirt, pushing it up. He gropes my chest with urgency. I couldn't stop him if I wanted. But I don't want to. I want this. I want this so much.

I sit up, pushing him away from me for just a moment so I can pull off my shirt. He does the same, and undoes his pants while he's at it.

He stands up, pushing them off and onto the floor. I stand as well, discarding the rest of my clothes.

We're naked. Together. In the middle of the loft. I can't help but take in his ever growing erection. The knowledge that it's hard for me only arouses me more.

Before I can further contemplate what I'd like to do to him, I'm being pushed backwards. I connect hard with the wall, and he is suddenly flush against me, taking my mouth again.

I can feel his erection against mine. I reach down and take hold of his, pumping it in my hand a few times. He pulls away from the kiss and delves into my neck, biting, kissing, licking, groaning.

He pulls away slightly, resting his outstretched arms on either side of me. I regain my hold on my erection and watch him as he pumps it into my hand. He is looking at me, his face just a few inches from my own. His eyes are dark and cloudy. He's beautiful when being pleasured. I want to see this face more often.

His pumping in my hand becomes more hurried, more needful. I tighten my grip. He loses his grip on the wall with his hands, and falls into my slightly. He grabs hold of my shoulders tightly and continues to pump in my hand. His grip on my shoulders is so tight I can barely keep from screaming out, but it only serves to make my erection even harder.

I reach my other hand down and grab him with both as his pumps become less coordinated. I know he's close. His face is buried in my shoulder. I want to see it when he comes.

I say his name. He pulls away from me so I can see his face.

"Come for me," I say. My voice is hoarse. My throat hurts. I don't care.

He pumps long and hard for a moment until he is spilling into my hands and onto the floor. I see it in his face. It's the sexiest thing I've ever seen. My name is choked back in his throat, and mixed in with a variation of a grunt and cry when he releases.

I need to experience this again.

He falls against me, panting, grabbing, groping. I turn us around and steady him against the wall. He looks up at me, and I kiss him, softer than I had before. He kisses back, and it's sweet. It's loving. It's less frantic.

He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me tightly to him, never breaking the kiss. His hands caress my back. It's heaven. My tongue is in his mouth, but it isn't needy or angry, it is sweet, tasting, feeling, touching.

He pushes me back lightly, and I watch him as he kneels in front of me.

He runs his hand up my leg before grasping my erection with one hand, and my balls with the other, rolling them around expertly. I exhale the breath I didn't know I was holding and watch as his lips descend over me.

He begins at a painfully slow pace. His tongue is on the head of my shaft, and it is just barely caressing. It feels unbelievable. I watch him bob back and forth, my eyes fixated on him. I rest my hands in his hair, brushing it softly with my fingers.

It's not long before the pleasure becomes more intense. He tightens his hold on me. He goes faster. I start to lose my composure.

I brace myself against the wall with outstretched arms, never letting him leave my gaze as he reaches a hurried pace.

I can't help myself as I begin to pump in and out of his mouth. He grips my hips with his hands tightly, and continues his ministrations.

It feels so good. Nothing has ever been better. I can feel my orgasm build and build until I can't help but explode.

I cry out. His name is on the tip of my tongue, but gets lost in the sound. It's unrecognizable as my own voice. I watch him as he spits out my cum onto the floor. I'm happy he did. Maureen always swallowed. It was gross.

He grabs my hand and pulls me down so I am sitting with him on the floor. He moves so he is leaning against the wall, and spreads his legs to make a place for me, which I take happily. I sink into his chest and allow my breathing to slow. His arms wrap tightly around me, and he places a kiss on my shoulder.

"What the fuck?" he asks softly. I look at him to see what his tone means, and find a grin on his lips. I can't help but mirror it.

"My sentiments entirely," I say. He lets out a low chuckle and I rest my head against his shoulder.

I'm sure we'll discuss this later. I'm sure there will be a very awkward moment, and he'll decide that this isn't what he wants.

And then, fuck.

But for now. Maybe just for now, we're happy. I'm thankful that the one thing I can't feel right now is numbness.

**A/N:** Okay, so let me start my saying that, at least in the world of the movie, I can't for the life of me see how Roger and Mark work together. At all. I see them as buddies, brotherly, and not at all romantic. But somehow in the wild, wacky, crazy fan-girl filled world of fanfiction, Roger/Mark just works. I've been addicted to Roger/Mark fanfics, and finally broke down to write my own.

Let me know what you thought.


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